Chapter 4
I pulled into my driveway at 2:47 PM.
The house looked exactly the same. White siding. Green shutters. The flagpole by the porch where I raised the Stars and Stripes every morning before I left.
But as I walked up the steps, it didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a crime scene.
I had my key in my hand, but I didn’t need it. I knew Travis was inside. And I knew exactly how I wanted this to go.
I didn’t kick the door down. That’s what guys on TV do. That’s what guys who want to get arrested for assault do.
I turned the lock quietly. Opened the door slow.
The house was silent except for the TV playing in the living room. Some football game. I recognized Travis’s voice over the commentary.
“…yeah, the Army’s probably got him scrubbing latrines somewhere. Dumb bastard doesn’t even know what he’s missing back home.”
Laughter. Marissa was back from the bank. She was home.
I closed the door behind me. Soft. Deliberate.
The laughter cut off instantly.
“Hello?” Marissa called. “Nora? Is that you?”
I didn’t answer. I walked down the hallway toward the living room. Boots heavy on the hardwood floor. Each step a countdown.
I rounded the corner.
And there they were.
Travis was on my couch. Feet up on my coffee table. Beer in my favorite glass. Shirt off, like he owned the place.
Marissa was curled into his side. Wearing the sweatshirt I’d bought her for our first Christmas together.
They both looked up at the exact same moment.
Marissa’s face went from confused to shocked to pure, unadulterated terror in less than a second.
She jumped off the couch like she’d been burned.
“James?” Her voice was a squeak. “What — what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be — you’re not supposed to be home for three weeks.”
Travis didn’t move. He just stared at me. Arrogant. Cocky. Like he thought he still had the upper hand.
“Hey, man,” he said, holding up his beer. “Didn’t know you were coming. Marissa said you were still overseas.”
I looked right through him. He didn’t matter. Not yet.
My eyes were locked on my wife.
“Nice sweatshirt,” I said. My voice was calm. Too calm. “I remember when you cried because you loved it so much. Said you’d never take it off.”
Marissa’s hands started shaking. She looked at Travis, then back at me. Her mind was spinning, scrambling for a lie, any lie that could get her out of this.
“James, I can explain —” She took a step toward me. “This is Travis. He’s — he’s a friend from church. His wife left him, he had nowhere to go, I was just —”
“Wearing my sweatshirt?” I interrupted. “Letting him sleep in our bed? Forging my signature on the mortgage? Trying to steal forty-five thousand dollars from our daughter’s college fund to buy him a Range Rover?”
The color drained from her face. All the way to white.
“You — you know about that?”
“I know everything, Marissa.” I took a step into the room. “I’ve known for three weeks. I watched you bring him into my house. I watched you tell my children I abandoned them. I watched you plan to run off with a married deadbeat who calls my kids brats behind their backs.”
Travis was off the couch now. Beer forgotten. The arrogance was melting into something uglier. Anger. Panic.
“Whoa, hold on,” he said, stepping between Marissa and me. “You got it all wrong, buddy. She told me you two were done. Separated. I had no idea —”
“Shut up.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to. I was six-two, two-twenty, four months of combat conditioning hardening every muscle. Travis was soft around the middle, beer gut hanging over his jeans. He took a step back automatically. “You don’t get to speak in my house. You don’t get to stand on my carpet. You have exactly ten seconds to get your things and get off my property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
I pulled my phone out. Showed him the screen. Grant had already texted: Process servers are three minutes out.
“Nine seconds.”
Travis looked at Marissa. She was frozen, crying now, hands over her mouth.
“Marissa, say something!” he snapped. “You told me he was gone! You said —”
“Five seconds.”
He swore. Grabbed his shirt off the arm of the couch. Bolted for the front door. He almost tripped over his own feet running out.
I didn’t watch him go. I was still looking at my wife.
The woman I’d loved for half my life. The woman I’d crossed an ocean to marry. The mother of my children.
She sank onto the couch, sobbing now. Ugly, gasping sobs.
“James, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake. I was lonely. You were gone so long, and I — I was so scared you wouldn’t come back the same. Travis was there, and he listened to me, and —”
“Stop.”
The word cut through her cries like a knife.
“You don’t get to blame this on me. You don’t get to blame this on the Army. You don’t get to blame this on loneliness.” I walked to the bookshelf. Pulled down the wedding album. Dropped it on the coffee table in front of her. “You made a choice. Every single day for four months, you chose him. You chose to lie to our daughter. You chose to brainwash our son. You chose to steal from the people who loved you most in the world.”
I leaned down, so I was eye level with her.
“And the worst part? You didn’t even pick a good one. He’s married, Marissa. Two kids he doesn’t support. Sixty thousand in debt. He was gonna take that Range Rover, flip it, and leave you with nothing. You threw away twelve years of marriage for a loser who was using you for money.”
She stopped crying. Just stared at me. The realization hitting her harder than any punch I could’ve thrown.
“He’s… he’s married?”
“Separated. Not divorced. Grant has the paperwork.”
Right on cue, the doorbell rang.
Marissa flinched like she’d been shot.
“That,” I said, standing up, “is the process server. With divorce papers. Restraining orders. Fraud charges. Emergency custody filings. Everything you deserve.”
I walked to the door. Opened it.
Two men in suits stood on the porch.
“Marissa Carter?” one asked.
May you like
I stepped aside.
“She’s all yours.”
